


taming a fox

by SapphyreLily



Series: Tendrils of a Dream [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dreamscape AU, F/M, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 19:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13130391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: It's too hot, and no one wants to be near each other, except, it seems, for one individual...





	taming a fox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bianoyami (poeticalcreation)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticalcreation/gifts).



> It's nearly 4am but yo, Merry Christmas, my friend >D

A calm night, a gentle breeze, quiet rustling of leaves. You lie on the edge of the meadow, hoping, hoping, that perhaps a stronger breeze may come, for tonight it is too warm. The air is heavy with the promise of rain, yet no clouds float by, and the humidity is killing you.

At least, you think, the grass is cool.

All your companions seem to have the same idea, and are scattered about the clearing, at least an arms-length apart. In human form, of course; how can one tolerate the heat with all that extra fur or feathers?

Yet, you hear the slightest rustling; turn your head to squint. A fox, trotting towards you, and without clear light it is impossible to distinguish its coat colour.

You think it might be red-gold.

It sits a distance from you. You blink, and a man lies beside you, back facing the sky, head resting on laced fingers. He tilts his head to the side, smiling a little under bangs swept right. You are about to smile back when his tongue pokes out and he winks, and the air leaves you in an exasperated huff.

He’s too flirtatious, this one.

(And once, he was the most dangerous one. How the tides have changed.)

You roll onto your stomach as well, towards him, though there’s still a gap between you. He glances down at the gap, up towards you, and pouts.

You roll your eyes.

It’s too hot, you remind him, but he scoots closer anyway, and now his chin rests on his hands, propped up by elbows.

That won’t _really_ stop me, he reminds. I do what I want.

You’re too cheeky, you tell him, and his lip quirks up at the corner.

Someone has to be, he says. And then he’s flopped down, head on arms but tilted, grinning up at you. Everyone here’s too serious. I’m just balancing it out.

You shake your head, but a smile tugs at your lips. You wouldn’t admit it to him, but his cheerfulness is infectious, and sometimes, you want to be a fox, if only to play and chase him around as his brother does.

He grins, rolling over, the gap between you decreasing again. There’s only the slightest space between you now, and you can feel the heat radiating off him – almost uncomfortable, with how hot you already are.

I will kick you into the stream, you threaten. It’s too hot.

I know, he replies cheerfully. I’m very hot, thank you for that kind compliment.

You want to smack him.

His tongue pokes out again – cheekily, teasingly, before he withdraws it, barking out a laugh. You wouldn’t really, he cajoles, and you know he’s right.

(There are other things you’d like to do, but it is neither the time nor place for it. Nor the season, because it is really too warm, warm, warm.)

But your mind has already strayed down that path, and you begin to think of other things. Like how that same annoying tongue lolls out when he’s challenging his brother; as if he’s salivating at the thought of a fight. How that same annoying tongue does a similar thing when they’re both in human form, when he’s faced with something powerful, something that stirs the flames of battle in him.

Perhaps not really battle, but it is almost exasperating, how much he aches for a fight, how much he pushes himself, so that he may better himself (or so, he once told you).

Yet it is precisely that dauntless, unbreakable spirit that makes him shine so brightly, that draws you to him like a moth to flame. How you wish you could be like that – strong and brave and utterly unwavering–

Pale eyes glimmer before yours, a question in them. You realise you are almost nose-to-nose.

Before you can say anything, lips turn upwards, almost sly, and you feel the whisper of air over your own lips.

My, my. What are we thinking?

You blink, a challenge of your own in the back of your throat, almost a snarl.

I’m going to bite that smirk off your face.

He looks surprised for a moment, but you have already moved in – no regrets, no turning back.

His lips are softer than you imagined.

But you won’t relinquish your promise, and his lower lip slips between yours, your teeth biting down. Gently, of course, nibbling at first, testing the waters.

There’s movement beneath you, and a heavy heat on your back, pressing you down, crushing you to him. He pulls back from your tame action, then presses his lips to yours again – hard, fierce, relentless. His tongue swipes across your lower lip – hot, quick, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

You are too warm, but not close enough, and you wriggle your hands free to cup his face, to press closer, to set your lips against his again and again and again – as many times as it takes.

(You’re not sure how many times it _will_ take.)

(Can a fox ever be tamed?)

It’s still lips against teeth, against tongue and pressing fingers, digits laced into hair and each of you fighting for dominance. You are giddy with exhilaration, light-headed with passion and the feeling of never being close enough. So you press in, pushing for more, and more, and more–

Surprisingly, he pulls away first, but not without a last sharp nip to your lips, and even in the dimness, you can see his sharp smile, and the way, perhaps, his lips are bruised.

You can’t help yourself; you lean in – maybe for the last time tonight, maybe not – and press the lightest of kisses to his lips. You can feel it now – your lips are bruised, too.

He smiles at you, the fire in his eyes dimmed, smouldering embers instead of raging fires. This, you think, may be the closest you’ll come to taming a fox.

He rolls you off him, and you are an arms-length apart. It is cool, now, and you shiver a little. Who’d’ve thought you’d miss the heat that was burning you so much just a while ago?

Then again, you think, and look over to him, where your fingers just brush – then again…

Then again, it is a different kind of heat, a different sort of fire.

This fire, you’d willingly walk into, time and again.

His eyes meet yours, and overhead, the faintest glow of the moon shines through. His smile says it all.

I’d do it all again, with you.

 


End file.
